


Stressed Relief

by Vague_Shadows



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Collars, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Pack Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:17:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1968714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vague_Shadows/pseuds/Vague_Shadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It doesn’t have to be a power play if you don’t want it to be,” Isaac allows, “but it sure seems like you could benefit from someone else calling the all shots for a while,” he goes on, hands trailing down Stiles’ arms until he circles Stiles’ wrists with his fingers, a vice-like grip where cuffs might go, “so you don’t have to think at all,” he adds, lifting Stiles’ arms up above his head even as he nudges Stiles back against the wall by the desk, pinning his arms up as he comes in for another kiss, slower this time, but a bit rougher, dirtier, the kind of kiss you give when you’d rather your mouth be working somewhere else on a body.  </p><p>Then Isaac pulls away, tucking his head beside Stiles’ to whisper against his ear.</p><p>“All you’d have to do is be a good boy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'll warn you that this is a teaser prologue. I'm just kind of testing the waters. Full chapter to follow in the next week or so hopefully.

Stiles is handing off the research Scott asked Isaac to pick up on his way home from work.  Stiles highlighted the important bits, mainly all the old family customs of established werewolf lines.  If Scott’s really going to be an alpha, he’s got to figure out how to do a better job than the last several candidates managed.  He’d really rather his best friend not end up dead by anything other than natural causes.   

“Dude, you’re thinking so loud I can practically hear the gears whirring in your head,” Isaac says.  “What gives?”

Stiles is staring at the computer screen trying to decide if the info he just found is important enough to make Isaac wait to get or if he’ll add it to the ever-growing stack later.

“I’m fine,” Stiles replies, annoyed that Isaac leans on the desk and down into his space to study Stiles’ expression.

“Stiles, come on,” Isaac says.  “I’m not stupid.  What gives?” he repeats.

“I just--can’t stop thinking about--everything,” Stiles replies, shoving his chair back from the desk and rising to his feet and grabbing the new pages now coming off the printer.  “It never stops going through my head, everything that’s happened, all the choices that brought us to this clusterfuck we’re in now, wondering what would’ve happened if we chose differently, trying to figure out how the hell to stay alive now, hoping we can guess one step ahead of everything out there that would just love to rip us all to bits.”  He runs his hands back through his hair as he admits wearily.  “I’m so fucking exhausted but my brain isn’t getting the memo.  I would give just about anything to make it quiet the fuck down even just for a minute.”

“Anything?” Isaac questions, with a grin and a glint in his eye that makes Stiles stomach tighten just a bit despite the overwhelming distraction of the stress.  

“Yeah. Pretty much,” Stiles answers honestly, taking a minute to write a note for Scott that instructs “just read this whole thing” in red at the top of this article.  “Why? You got an idea?”

“Several,” Isaac replies, taking a couple slow steps to move into Stiles space again, bringing his lips towards Stiles’ slowly enough that Stiles could turn or step away if he wanted.

But he doesn’t want that.

He wants exactly what Isaac gives, sealing their lips together in a kiss that starts out tentatively but turns into something hungrier and more desperate in a matter of seconds, until Isaac breaks away, biting at Stiles bottom lip as they part;  Stiles is flustered and breathless and for the first time in weeks his mind is blank--well, except for the thought of how much he already misses the feel of Isaac’s mouth on his.

Isaac brings one hand up to frame Stiles’ face, brushing his thumb across Stiles’ swollen lips.  He seems just a bit hesitant when he breaks the silence, as though he’s about to tell a secret he shouldn’t.   

“I could help you let go for a little while,” Isaac offers, voice low and lustful.  “I’d take care of you, Stiles; if you want that.  Nobody else has to know any of it.  Just me and you blowing off some steam before we lose our minds to all this shit that gets heaped on us.”

“Are you serious right now? Are you--suggesting what I think you are because--because I mean my mind kind of goes straight to the gutter so--”

“It doesn’t have to be a power play if you don’t want it to be,” Isaac allows, “but it sure seems like you could benefit from someone else calling the all shots for a while,” he goes on, hands trailing down Stiles’ arms until he circles Stiles’ wrists with his fingers, a vice-like grip where cuffs might go, “so you don’t have to think at all,” he adds, lifting Stiles’ arms up above his head even as he nudges Stiles back against the wall by the desk, pinning his arms up as he comes in for another kiss, slower this time, but a bit rougher, dirtier, the kind of kiss you give when you’d rather your mouth be working somewhere else on a body.  

Isaac pulls away, tucking his head beside Stiles’ to whisper against his ear.

“All you’d have to do is be a good boy.”

The words send every ounce of Stiles’ blood rushing to his dick, but it seems Isaac has no intention of following through on the offer right now.  He releases Stiles wrists and takes a step back, grinning wickedly at Stiles as their eyes meet.   

He starts to turn away and Stiles can’t help but bark, “Wait!”

Isaac doesn’t reply, just raises an eyebrow in question.  

“Yeah,” Stiles says.  “Let’s--I think--that would be kind of awesome to try.”

“Think about it with your upstairs brain for a while,” Isaac suggests, taking the stack of papers he left on the desk and walking toward the bedroom door.  “I’ll see you at school tomorrow. Tell me then.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees reluctantly.

But he already knows the answer will still be ‘yes.’

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanted to get you guys a full chapter after the last tease :) hope you enjoy!

            Stiles’ body is practically humming with anticipation as he opens the top drawer of his dresser and shoves the t-shirts there aside to stare down at the simple leather collar resting at the bottom.  He still can’t entirely believe this is actually happening: that Isaac Lahey offered to scene with him, that Stiles managed to keep a generally straight face while they talked out ground rules and limits and some other topics Stiles honestly still needs to research a bit, that at the end Isaac offered him this collar, and that Stiles took it.

 _You don’t have to,_ Isaac had said, _but if you want we can use it to stop and start our scenes._

And Stiles does want that.  He’s honestly both surprised and embarrassed by just how _badly_ he wants it.  At first he’d thought it was just the general idea of sex with Isaac, because, well, _Isaac._ He’s not exactly hard on the eyes.  But more than that, the idea of putting on the collar, of agreeing to the obedience and handing over power to somebody else, it makes him kind of _ache_ in all the right ways.  Besides the clear sexual gratification he stands to gain from this, Stiles has to admit the idea of shutting his brain down for a little while sounds incredibly enticing too.  He spent the majority of school today fantasizing about the various possibilities they discussed last night. There’s a million different things about this that might mean it’s not really going to work, _God_ he hopes it _does_ work.  

Isaac texted about fifteen minutes ago to say he was headed over to work on their chemistry assignment.  He’ll be here any minute, and Dad _won’t_ be here until morning.  

_Take the plunge? Or hold off on it a little longer?_

Stiles picks the collar up gingerly, as if it could shatter, and runs his fingers down the soft length of it.  He doesn’t know where Isaac got it; he’s not sure he wants to ask.  Because if Isaac knows all this, he’s probably done it before, and that means Stiles has someone else to compete with in Isaac’s mind.  He’s self-conscious enough without following that train of thought, so he turns his attention back to the decision before him.

He pulls out his phone to text Isaac, “Door’s unlocked; come on up when you get here.”

He presses send and discards the phone on top of the dresser, using both hands to bring the collar up around his neck and fasten the buckle, leaving a bit of space but not _too_ much.  He knows enough about how all this works to think briefly of stripping down and waiting on his knees for Isaac, but that seems like a really serious step, and Stiles isn’t so sure he’s _quite_ brave enough for that yet.  Instead he strips off only his shirt, cursing his pale skin and lack of werewolfy chiseled abs as he glances down, and sits on the edge of his bed to wait.

Isaac arrives no more than three or four minutes later.  It’s enough time that Stiles’ nervous energy is about to drive him mad.  He’s drumming his fingers on his knee, listening to the front door shut behind Isaac.  

“Hey, Stiles, it’s me!” he calls through the house.

“Up here,” Stiles calls back, and he hears Isaac’s footfalls on the steps as he climbs toward Stiles room.

It’s the moment to bail out if he wants.  He could get the collar off and toss it somewhere before Isaac gets to his bedroom.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, Stiles takes a deep breath and bows his head down a little, almost like he’s praying, which, at this point, he kinda is.

_Please don’t let me fuck this up._

Isaac stops short in the doorway, and Stiles peeks up at him through his eyelashes, unable to resist.  His mouth is open in surprise, though he must have known this was a possibility.  Then his mouth closes to a smile, his eyes darken just a little lustful and a bit predatory, and Stiles’ chest clenches in excitement.  Isaac drops his backpack on the floor by the door with a heavy thud and reaches to push the door shut behind him.

“You sure?” Isaac wonders.

“Yeah,” Stiles answers, spiked pulse bringing a breathiness to his voice despite the fact that nothing’s even happened yet.

“Yeah?” Isaac questions, a more sharp tone.  “What kind of answer is that?”

“Yes, Isaac,” Stiles amends, and his stomach flutters even at the simple submission in the words.

“Better,” he praises.  “I didn’t really come that prepared, but I’m sure we can improvise a little,” he goes on.  “Let’s see.”

He’s surveying the room, and Stiles gives up all pretense of having his head bowed anymore.  He’s too curious about what’s running through Isaac’s mind right now, too eager to see what’s in store for him.  Isaac reaches for the scarf wrapped around the closet door handle and takes down both the black and brown belts hanging on hooks on the closet door.  Stiles tenses in anticipation as Isaac approaches slowly. He ducks his head again, but Isaac puts a finger under Stiles’ chin to guide his head back up.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and Stiles obliges.  “Colors?” he quizzes.

“Green to go, yellow to take a minute and slow down or talk if we need to, red to stop everything right that second.”

“Very good,” Isaac says with a smile, running fingers through Stiles hair and bringing their lips together for a kiss that’s over much too quickly for Stiles’ liking.  “I’m going to blindfold you.  Color?” he wonders, holding up the scarf.

“Green.”

Stiles is surprised what an effect the one move has.  It’s the first step of trust in this, the first move Isaac makes as they settle into their roles together for the first time.  He has no idea the next kiss is coming until Isaac’s lips are on his, but he kisses back eagerly, making sure Isaac sees he’s good with everything so far.  

“Slide up toward the headboard,” Isaac instructs “lay on your back, with your arms laying above your head.”

He hears Isaac walk around the side of the bed and feels when his weight joins Stiles on the mattress somewhere near where his hands rest.  Isaac takes Stiles’ arms and lays one beside the other so his wrists nearly touch.  He feels the cool leather of a belt lay across his skin and then Isaac starts to wrap the belt around Stiles’ wrists.

“Color?”

“Green.”

“One belt on your wrist, one from that belt to the headboard,” Isaac says.  “They’re a reminder, not a real restraint, don’t pull too hard,” he instructs.  “Understand?”

“Yes, Isaac.”

Isaac’s weight disappears for a moment to reappear and the end of the bed.  He guides Stiles legs further apart, and seems to be settled in a spot between them.  His fingers tickle a bit as he pulls at the waistband of Stiles’ jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping before slowly beginning to slide them down, boxers too.  A chill runs through Stiles as his half-hard cock is exposed to the air of the room, Isaac wonders, “Color?”

“Green.  I’m okay.  Don’t worry.”

Isaac runs his hands up Stiles’ bare legs, stopping just short of his groin.  It’s all Stiles can do not to wiggle and try to get contact.  He’s guessing that’s a bad plan, but he’s never exactly been patient.  Isaac runs his hands over Stiles’ abdomen, feeling every inch like he’s trying to map it out.  

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Isaac tells him, and Stiles can feel the flush rushing into his cheeks.  “Laid out like this, waiting, quiet.   _Damn_ the things I would love to do to you.”

Stiles shudders at the promise in the words, and Isaac chuckles.

“And good behavior gets rewarded,” he says, and Stiles is pleasantly surprised by the sensation of Isaac’s fingers stroking his hardening shaft.  

“Fuck,” he hisses, and Isaac’s hand is immediately gone.

“No speaking unless spoken to,” Isaac commands, “except colors.  Understand?”

“Yes, Isaac.”

“Good.”

He strokes Stiles just a few times more before leaving his erection neglected in favor of mouthing along Stiles’ torso, starting at his belly button all the way up to his neck, just below where the collar sits.   Isaac sucks hard, and Stiles can’t help but gasp, pulling slightly at his restraints as his body tenses.  Isaac nips at his skin a bit sharply.

“I told you not to pull,” he reminds, and Stiles forces his body to relax again, as difficult as it is not to move as Isaac’s mouth works back downward until he’s swirling his tongue around Stiles’ nipple.  The sound that escapes Stiles is something between a groan and a whimper, and he can feel Isaac’s lips form a smile against his skin; he repeats the motion, and Stiles’ groan is deeper this time as the sensation send a tingle down his spine that must get half his blood flowing toward his dick.

_We haven’t even done that much yet; come on, Stiles; get a hold on yourself._

“I don’t want you to come until I tell you,” Isaac says.

_Then I really hope you tell me soon._

“Turn over onto your stomach; brace yourself up on your elbows and knees.”

Stiles does as instructed, eager and willing and _so_ ready for Isaac to _really_ start things. Isaac’s weight leaves the bed again. Stiles hears the sound of his clothes hitting the floor as he undresses, and his nerves kick up a notch wondering what Isaac plans.  

“Do you have lube?” Isaac asks, and Stiles’ nerves hit high gear in a slightly unpleasant way.

“Um--yellow?” Stiles says hesitantly, but Isaac doesn’t sound perturbed in the least when he responds.

“Sure, okay, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Just--uh--what’re we doing with the lube exactly? Because I wasn’t really thinking about potentially getting fucked and I--”

“Fucking your thighs,” Isaac interrupts before Stiles can babble further, “that was the plan for tonight.  Didn’t want to go for too much too soon.”

“Awesome,” Stiles replies, “not that I--I mean I’m looking forward to--but yeah, not on the first round.”

“So, color?” Isaac wonders. “We can backtrack if we need to, or if you want to hold off on--”  

“Green means go, dude,” Stiles assures, and he hears Isaac huff in what sounds like amusement. “Lube’s in the nightstand.”

As Isaac gets the lube, Stiles wills himself back to relaxation.  He breathes deep, and lets it out slowly.  He clears his head as best he can, focusing instead on the sensations around him: the leather warming around his wrists, the tickle of the scarf running down his neck where it’s tied, the feather light touch of Isaac’s hand caressing his back until the tension’s leached away again.  Isaac leans in from his place beside the bed, and his breath tickles against Stiles’ ear as he bids,

“Let everything else go, Stiles; just be here with me.”  

The words aren’t just a careless reassurance for the sake of continuing the moment.  There’s an earnesty in the low tone of Isaac’s voice that makes Stiles _want_ to leave the rest of the world behind for a while.   

“Trust me,” Isaac urges, planting a kiss just above the collar’s resting place.  “I’ll take care of you,” he adds.  “Okay?”

“Yes, Isaac,” Stiles answers immediately.

“You’re going to be so good for me, aren’t you?” Isaac wonders.  “Put your thighs together tight while I fuck you; imagine I’m really inside you, filling you up til you’re not sure you can take any more.”

“Yes--yes, Isaac.  I wanna be good for you,” Stiles answers, mind entirely engrossed with the visualization the words bring to mind.  

“Legs together then.  Good, Stiles.  That’s good.”

He senses the empty space Isaac leave by the bed as his footsteps retreat.  His weight settles on the end of the bed behind Stiles, whose eagerly awaiting Isaac’s next moves, missing the contact he doesn’t have power to seek on his own.  Isaac slides lubed fingers slowly between Stiles’ thighs, pushing in and out a few times, coating his skin.  Stiles shivers at the slick feel of it, cold lube on Isaac’s warm hands; Stiles erection may have waned a bit in the earlier transition from green to yellow, but it’s back in full force.  He wants to feel more of Isaac, _so_ much more, but he remembers Isaac’s earlier instruction not to pull.  He holds still despite his desire.   He’s even more glad now that Isaac’s not going to be hitting his prostate anytime soon because he would _definitely_ be breaking the waiting-to-come rule.

Isaac’s hands grip around the top of Stiles’ thighs, tight and forceful, but not painful;  it steadies Stiles but should also give him leverage, and Stiles hopes fervently that means Isaac is going to start fucking _soon_.  He’s leaking already, just from overload of input and this whole situation and the knowledge that he’s not _supposed_ to do anything yet makes it harder to ignore.    Stiles feels the tip of Isaac’s cock at the crease between Stiles’ skin, and Stiles whines in anticipation, too ready for this scene to kick up a notch to be embarrassed that he jerks back a little, trying to get Isaac in farther.

Isaac digs his fingers into Stiles’ legs a bit harder and pulls back from Stiles completely.

“My pace, Stiles; not yours.  Might have to give you a lesson or two in patience,” he supposes, in an annoyingly even tone, “maybe I’ll keep you on the edge ‘til you’re begging to come, and all you’ll get to do is lie there.”  

Stiles muffles his curse at the suggestion down into the bed.  Isaac lines up against him again.  He barely has a moment to take in the pressure before Isaac thrusts, rocking them both forward before pulling  back and driving in again.  His grip on Stiles tightens, but Stiles drinks in the feel of it--like Isaac can’t get himself close enough, like he’s never going to let go.

“Feels so fucking good, Stiles,” Isaac gasps.  “God, I can’t _wait_ to really fuck this perky ass open,” he goes on, binging one hand up to grip at the globe of Stiles’ ass, thumb teasing down his crack and sending a thrill through Stiles at the mere thought.  “Work you loose enough to pound in just like this, ‘til you feel the rhythm of us in your bones, hitting your prostate every time, and you’ll _beg_ to come untouched, just from the feel of me inside you.”

Stiles groans at the proposal, wishing they could just do it tonight, do anything and everything tonight until the sun came up and Stiles was too tired to move anymore.

“You want that, Stiles?” Isaac demands.

“Yes, Isaac.”

“You want to come without a single thought given to your own dick? Just from being a good boy and taking what I give you? From being so full of me you can’t think about _anything_ else?”

“Fuck, yes, Isaac,” Stiles gasps.  

_Because if this is round one, holy shit will the next be incredible.   If I’m barely holding it together now, God, you’re going to ruin me aren’t you?_

_Fuck, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes._

 Isaac’s pace quickens, more and more desperate as his words give way to garbled moans, until he comes, spilling his load until it drips down Stiles thighs, warm and sticky. Isaac thrusts a few more times before moving away.  Stiles misses the contact the minute he’s gone, happy when he feels Isaac’s hands on his hips guiding Stiles to turn on his side. Stiles is facing Isaac, wishing fervently that he could see through the blindfold.  

His imagination runs away with him, conjuring the image of the blonde curls drenched with sweat, pupils blown wide as he continues to come down from his orgasm, mouth open wide and throat bared as he sucks in deep breaths.  

_Fuck._

“So good for me,” Isaac murmurs, caressing Stiles jawline with his fingertips before brushing his thumb over Stiles’ lips, rough pad of it scratching just the slightest bit but then immediately soothed by a kiss, quick and chaste.  “But impatient,” Isaac reminds, “Weren’t you?”

“Yes, Isaac.”

“There are consequences for broken rules,” Isaac declares with just a hint of darkness in the lowered tone, and Stiles shudders.

Stiles is surprised when Isaac’s next move is to tug the blindfold up and off.  He raises his eyebrows in silent question, and Isaac asks somberly, “Color?”

“Green.”

“Good.  Roll to your back.”

Stiles does as he’s told, and Isaac sits back up, smiling down at him with a gleam in his eye that Stiles would guess means Isaac wasn’t kidding about the lesson in patience.

“Don’t come until I give you permission,” Isaac says moving to kneel between Stiles legs, “but you can ask for it,” he allows, “and keep your eyes open, watching me, the _whole_ time.”

Stiles bites on his lip in an attempt to keep quiet, though a needy moan still escapes him.  He does as he’s told, watching as one of Isaac’s hand comes to grip around Sitles’ erection and the other moves to fondle his balls; he just _barely_ resists the urge to shut his eyes and relish the tight heat of Isaac’s fingers wrapped around him.  

“ _Isaac_ ,” he moans, curling his toes into the sheets in an effort to stay still.  

“No. Not yet.  Don’t even _think_ about it,” Isaac growls.

Stiles of course can’t think of anything else; not with Isaac’s hand on him, pumping with torturously slow movements.  He thinks he’s going to lose his mind or explode or _something._

“Isaac, _please_.”

“You can wait a little longer,” Isaac tells him.  “Patience, Stiles.”

He gasps, drawing in a shuddering breath as he tries desperately to hold back his release.  “I _can’t_.”

“You’ve been _so_ good, Stiles; just little bit longer; be good for me; show me you can be patient,” Isaac bids.  

“Oh my _God_ , Isaac,” he wails, giving in to the urge to throw his head back, breaking his gaze from Isaac’s and up to the blank white ceiling.  “I--I--”

“Look at me,” Isaac commands, fingers circling the base of Stiles’ cock and squeezing, fending off Stiles’ orgasm for another moment or two but he’s still so hard he thinks he might burst.  

Stiles drags his head back to meet Isaac’s gaze, eyes locked to Isaac’s by the intensity of his stare.  He sees what Isaac’s planning before it happens; his mouth is open in a sinful ‘O’ and he bends down to take just the head of Stiles’ cock in his mouth, never breaking eye contact.  Stiles can’t hold still any longer, bucking up into Isaac’s mouth, seeking more of the wet heat.  Isaac uses his freed hands to grab at Stiles’ hips, pinning his easily back down to the mattress.

“Isaac, fuck, Isaac, _please_!” he implores.  “ _Please_ let me come.”

Isaac nods just slightly, before taking Stiles so deep into his mouth that he feels his cock hit the back of Isaac’s throat.  Isaac swallows around him as he comes, orgasm so powerful it’s almost painful, crying Isaac’s name like a curse.  Isaac chuckles at the sound, vibrations in his throat coaxing even more from Stiles, prolonging the glorious release.   Isaac pulls off of him, and Stiles lets his head fall back to the bed, as his whole body relaxes again, spent and boneless.   He’s still coming down as Isaac moves to take away the belt on his wrists, massaging his arms to get the blood flowing well again.  He settles further down the bed once he’s done, on his side facing Stiles, who’s lost somewhere in another world, staring at the ceiling above him as the endorphins finally start to wane.

“Hey,” Isaac says, hand reaching to turn Stiles’ face to his.  “Color?”

“Green,” Stiles answers with a smile.  “Very, _very_ green.”

The smile Isaac gives at the response is downright dazzling.  He comes closer, bringing their lips together and letting a hand wander down Stiles’ back.  They kiss, slow and lazy, until Stiles breaks away gasping.  Isaac’s eyes are practically shining with adoration as he trails the hand back up Stiles’ back to stroke at his collar.

“You were fantastic,” he praises, “That was _excellent_ for your first time.”

The praise gives Stiles a warm sense of satisfaction, and he smiles a bit shyly, not entirely sure why he’s blushing under Isaac’s gaze.

“Come on,” Isaac says, rising and offering a hand to Stiles.  “Let me get you cleaned up.”

“Don’t care,” Stiles replies, doubting he’s got the energy to force himself to get up for anything less than the house being on fire.

Isaac reaches back the collar still gracing Stiles’ neck, but instead of the tender stroke of moments ago, he hooks two fingers inside and tugs at the leather.  His eyes darken a bit as he reminds, “That’s not a suggestion. You’re mine, Stiles, and I’m going to take care of you.”

_You’re mine._

The words make Stiles thrum with renewed excitement, though there’s no way in hell he’s up for round two or anything.  Isaac offers him a hand up again, and this time Stiles takes it, trodding along behind him toward the bathroom.  

Isaac turns on the tap, adjusting the water until he’s satisfied with the temperature and plugging the drain.  He turns back to Stiles, guiding him in front of the mirror to face it.  Isaac comes up behind him, tucking his head over Stiles’ shoulder and wrapping his arms around to caress Stiles’ bare chest as he murmurs.  

“Look how fucking beautiful you are,” Isaac tells him, breath tickling at the nape of Stiles’ neck.  “See?”

What Stiles sees is the 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone that no chiseled god like Isaac should logically want, so he looks down from the mirror, blushing.

“I asked you a question,” Isaac persists.  “Answer me.”

“Yes, Isaac,” he agrees quietly.

“Don’t lie to me,” Isaac warns darkly.  “Look back in the mirror,” he instructs, and Stiles does as he’s told.  “You are _gorgeous_ ,” Isaac declares firmly, like there can be no doubt.  “Every,” he goes on, mouthing at Stiles shoulder, “Last,” he continues, pausing to kiss Stiles’ back again, “Inch of you,” he murmurs earnestly.

Stiles almost believes him, and Isaac must see the way Stiles eyes drop again because he promises sweetly, “And next time I’m going to take my time appreciating _all_ of it.”  

Stiles groans at the prospect, and Isaac laughs.  “Of course, you’ll have to learn how to keep still,” he reminds, a threat but also another promise.  

The tub is full enough now, and Isaac steps in first, pulling Stiles behind him by the hand.  He guides Stiles down in front of him, sitting between Isaac’s legs with his back flush to Isaac’s front.   Isaac takes the sponge from the side of the tub, soaping it up and blanketing Stiles’ body slow and gentle with the lather.  He’s absolute putty by the time Isaac’s done, head laid back on Isaac’s shoulder, drowsy beyond belief.

And suddenly he’s upright and being wrapped in a towel.

“Huh?” he mutters.  

“You dozed off for a minute,” Isaac says, and Stiles blearily takes in his smug smile.  “C’mon; back to the bed.”

He follows without further question, stopping by the bed when Isaac does. Isaac brings a hand to the buckle of Stiles’ collar, eyes questioning.

“Not yet?” Stiles requests.

“Okay,” Isaac agrees.

He leaves Stiles to strip the sheets from the bed before he lays down on the bare mattress.  When he holds out his hand in invitation, Stiles moves to the mattress to join him, taking a spot as the little spoon as Isaac curls into him, wrapping an arm tightly around his waist and keeping Stiles close as he drifts off to sleep again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thank you to Strangeredlantern for beta reading and boosting my confidence like CRAZY for me to be able to even attempt something like this.


End file.
